Serenity
by Bela Luna
Summary: A dark tale of three heroes and one girl who is in desperate search for them. Reviews much appreciated. Long hiatus plot related. Am experiencing technical difficulties. Alert me if wish for update.
1. Chapter 1

9&10 April 2006

Title: Serenity

Type: an ambitious story by an avid fan.

Summery: No Rest for the Wicked A young woman seeks help from a woman with nothing to lose, an irresistible nobleman, and a princess who searches for something that may help her.

Your longfic challenge as presented by Tidah:

All characters (and more, must be from fairytales)

Action/Adventure (and any others)

Each chapter must be at least 2000 words

It all starts with: A prophecy, a key, and a minor accident with the local fishermen. Interpret however you'd like.

Themes: Running away from one's own identity. Disguise. Hidden meanings.

* * *

Chapter 1

It had been a long time since they had had any hope. The ones who had heard the words of the Wise Woman were long dead, unable to give the real truth. Their silent tongues had brought no hope to them and had waved off the Wise Woman's words as merely insanity. Their village was a peaceful village, more pious than what was expected of them. None cared for this so-called prophesy. She had been an elderly woman, though one's great uncle had claimed them to be true.

There was no trouble and never had been. Soon it had cleared out of their minds until, one year it had not stopped ranging for three days and destroyed the crops. The next year it rained for four days without stopping, five the year after, and one day being added for each year. The unfortunate children borne during these years knew what rain meant, knew the power and hatred of nature, and humbly respected it. For five years all they feared was the rain.

On the fifth year a young maiden ventured out into the rain in search of help. She did not return till after a full year. On the seventh year another maiden ventured forth in search of help and did not return till four years had passed. This pattern continued till, on the eighteenth year, she did not return, and it rained for twenty days.

Each year the parents kept a close watch on their fourteen year-old daughters, keeping them busy with work and had escaped two years without losing one. On the twenty-first year another daughter had gone forth into the forest, left without a word or a note -for all the young maidens that had gone had been educated- and all were frightened for her safety.

For three days rain poured from the sky. This gave blessed relief on the first day, irritation on the second, and depression on the third. It continued one so that on the fourth day, for a mere moment, the rain had ceased and allowed a proper look at the grey clouds before resuming its tirade. By the fifth day only the ones with a spark of courage, or a bucket of foolishness, dared to venture outside.

The rain poured down, abusing the world for whichever crime it had committed to anger it so. The villagers placed every protective charm above their doors, murmuring amongst themselves that some evil, irreversible deed had been done to the folk and this was their punishment. They accepted it, adjusting their lives to stay within their homes till the rain went off in silence like it had twenty years ago.

And, so, the rain fell down cruelly still, pounding the trees and the earth. The boughs creaked under the force and the night sky -though it had become difficult at time to discern when it was night or day- grew eerily bright with tremendous flashes of light and trembled with bouts of rolling thunder.

For six days the rain came down, each day surpassing the next in power. The ground grew soft, almost too soft to walk upon. The skies were dark during the day, forcing everyone to use what precious oil and their diminishing supply of candles to see at night. No one dared speak against it, not even the one young woman who, try as she might, couldn't bring herself to sleep during those six nights.

On the seventh day no one could see out their windows. The rain had grown into a crescendo -for how long, no one knew- beating so hard and so fast against the rooftops that they could barely hear it. It came down too fast to see even a breath out the door. Most feared a flood, that mud and debris would flow down through their village and destroy them all. They kept indoors, praying for a break that would not come.

Outside the rain continued on, still angry and vengeful. The trees bent under its weight, repentant for their unknown crime. Not a living thing stirred outside, all except for one young woman making her way through the bruising, desperate to leave her warm and dry home on such a night.

There was something desperately wrong with this village. She moved beneath the rain, her back stooped and body aching from the pressure. She moaned, in pain. She had grown up near this forest, had ventured among the trees for a jaunt. Tonight, it was not the sunny woods filled with the pleasant sound of birds. Tonight, it was a foreign country. She shuddered beneath her cloak, teeth chattering and knees knocking. The mud beneath her feet rushed up over her shoes. She had a mind to quit, to turn back around, but something kept her there on the watery path.

Too much rain, there was too much. She shielded her eyes, attempting to see ahead. She saw lines of falling silver and white. It was getting worse. She pushed her red hair out of her face. Slender tendrils clung to her face and neck, causing as much irritation as the rain. Her thoughts turned back to her task and the thought that something may be following her crept into her mind. She took another step, attempting to stand up straight.

If something was following her it would, most likely, quit before she did. The weather was horrendous and she wasn't bright enough to stop and turn back around. If she had thought this through she probably would have stayed home. She sighed and looked up, stopping where she was.

In front of her eyes lay a clearing -or what may have been one for it now seemed to be quagmire. Perched on a small little stool sinking into the mud and dangerously close to the edge a weathered old man with a fishing line. He was smiling and seemed to be singing a happy little tune. She stared at him, the numbing rain not nearly as harsh as it had been moments ago. She made her way to him slowly, the water level rising steadily and had engulfed the stool by the time she had come next to him.

"Allo!" she called.

The elderly man paid her no mind, instead jerking on the line every now and then. She stared at him, speechless. In this God awful weather here sat an old man fishing. She leant against the tree and gasped. The water had come rushing over his lap. She reached forward and grabbed his shoulders. She pulled him out of harm's way and into the mud. She helped him stand and he gave her brilliant smile.

"Thank ye, kindly, young lady," he said. "I wish to reward you, but I'm not sure how."

"There is no need," she replied modestly.

He shook his head. "Oh, but I must." He looked thoughtful for a moment and then took a slender, silver key out from his pocket. "Take this. It will help you find what you seek, for only one willing to seek what you are searching for and is good of heart may find it."

She thought he was mad. It was too thin, unfit for any use except as an ornament or to be hung from a chain as jewelry. She thanked him for it and slipped the key into a soaked pocket. She sighed, tired, and looked up to thank him once more, but found that he was no longer there. She looked around, bewildered and frightened, before catching sight of his cheerful little hat floating atop the water's surface. She covered her mouth, then murmured a small prayer. It was his time, and what could she have done to intervene?

What the Wise Woman, which later generations had written off as senile, had said had been a warning to the punishment that would come to the village. Two young men from the village had harmed a powerful being to the point of death. Their punishment had been a curse, which curse no one alive now knows. Rain would come year after year and claim one young, pretty, and bright girl from that village.

The Wise woman told them that on the twenty-first year a young woman would go into the forest, one who had insight into human nature but refused to let it show in order to please her old-fashioned relatives. She would be one who could learn fast enough to save them all. She would be fourteen on the seventh day of the twenty-first year, one with hair as red as autumn leaves.

Every mother feared for their daughters' lives, anguished when a girl with red hair has borne. None looked into the details, for the prophesy was fearful enough. With patience they reared these girls to be quiet, obedient, and uneducated. These girls married at fourteen, no sooner and no later. During the two years of no girl lost fifteen of them had gotten married.

One piece of the prophesy had been lost, the souls of the few people who had heard the words come directly out of the whither mouth shook their heads wearily and prayed that the saviour of this good, peaceful little village would know what to do when the time came.

* * *

Chapter one rewritten. Word count: 1543. I'll try better next time. Storyline has been corrected and will be confusing for quite a few chapters. I haven't written long fanfiction in a year or so and I am already making all of the same mistakes. What was written above is, loosely, based on a fairy tale I had heard long ago, but extremely exaggarated. I don't usually write like this, but I hope that it suits the story. 


	2. Chapter 2

9, 12, 15 April 2006

I wrote three little fics instead of working on this. I'm sorry. I have the three main characters in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own No Rest for the Wicked ( w w w . f o r t h e w i c k e d . n e t ). This comic belongs to Andrea L. Peterson.

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

November stood before the oven, hot, exhausted, and disgusted. She kept her hands away from the sullied door. The images that had been conjured up when she touched it, all of those poor children... She shuddered, clasping her hands together. She hadn't thought far enough and now realised that her only hope of escaping was for Perrault to somehow get her out.

"...came to live here...?"

November's head lifted. She hadn't heard the beginning of the question. She took one step forward, her ears open to the sound of the old woman's voice and to a strange sound that she couldn't discern. The fire roared and she felt panic spread in her chest.

"...you and your brother..."

November took another small step. She could reach the door easily if she ran fast enough. Her arms fell to her side. She could escape -she knew what had happened to all those poor children, Perrault had probably gotten Hansel out already. There was nothing left to do here.

"...check the oven?"

November froze. Over the crackling fire she could hear the old woman's footsteps. All plans of escape were abandoned and replaced with how to survive the next few moments.

* * *

As the night progressed the rain lightened considerably, although she suspected that there was only a slight change and was just a trick that her tired body was playing on her. She trudged on, unsure of why she was till going, but going anyway. She lifted her weary head, willing to look one last time for the night if there was any shelter before considering going back home.

Up ahead, very faint in the rain, was yellow orb of light. Her body ached at the thought of a bed. She lifted her legs, moving somewhat faster than before. She found herself at the door, unable to explain how she had gotten there so fast, but felt no reason to hesitate. She pounded the door with her fists, barely able to hear them. She called out desperately, but still no one came. They lights were on, but no one was home. She stared the door, the tears welling up. Why she felt the need to cry she did not know, but all she wanted was to get dry. She stared at the door then thought to see if the door was open. She twisted the knob and the door opened easily.

Instantly she ran into the cozy little home, water puddling round her skirts. She shivered and looked longingly at the fire.

"Allo?" she called out.

For a moment there was no answer before a sweet, quiet voice said, "Yes? Who is it?"

A young woman, possibly one year younger, entered the room.

"Why, hello. What brings you to my home?"

"I need a place to stay the night."

"Of course," the other girl replied. "My name is Goldia. May I inquire as to what is yours?"

She was taken aback. Her tongue was good, far too good for someone who lived in the forest.

"Oh, how rude of me. You are probably tired and hungry. And very wet, from the looks of it!" Goldia laughed. It was a pleasant laugh, like soft bell. "Come by the fire. I shall fetch you something dry to dress in."

She thanked Goldia and waited till the comely girl returned with a soft cotton dress before peeling off her sopping clothes and changing.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Think nothing of it," Goldia said, waving a hand. "It is the least I can do."

Goldia sat in her chair, rocking as she pulled a brush through her thick blonde hair. Goldia smiled and left to bring food. Again, she thanked Goldia.

"Whose home is this?" she asked.

"It is mine," Goldia said. "It hadn't always been mine. At first, it belonged to a family of three. They loved one another, but were unkind to others. I had been unfortunate to come across them in my youth. But I did intrude, and so I suppose that they were justified in their anger. I was tired and lost and came across this place. I had no intentions of ever coming back, but I found my way."

"How did you end up living here?"

Goldia sighed. "I became lost once more. Try as I would I could not find the way back home, and was forced to come back here. I believe I was fortunate, though: this house was empty when I came and stayed empty. It is now mine. I am careful about locking the doors and windows, except for tonight it seems." Goldia gave her a strange smile.

She shuddered. Goldia laughed.

"Oh, please, I hope that you know that I do not mean to frighten you. It is merely fact. Now, come, I shall show you where you shall sleep."

She complied willingly, following Goldia into the spacious kitchen and settling down on a small cot. Goldia said her goodnights and retired upstairs to her own bed. She lay on the cot, tired. Her eyelids dipped dangerously low, and her overworked body buzzed with pain, but she could not fall asleep. She got up and stood before the fire until her clothes were finally dry just before daybreak.

* * *

Red approached the door quietly, a rigid, silent anger buning gently. She hadn't expected much from that cat, but she had thought that he would have more sense to keep November away. She placed her hand on the door knob. It probably had been too much to expect even that from him.

When she had hunted wolves she knew that sneaking up on them and killing them quickly -painlessly was an option- was the best appraoch, but this was a matter that needed to be dealt more delicately. She placed her basket down on the door step and retrieved her axe, concealing it beneath her red cloak. This may be needed to be dealt more delicately, but back-ups never hurt anyone.

She pressed her ear to the door, hearing snatches of the old woman's one-sided conversation.

"...check the oven?"

Red 's eyes widened ever so slightly. Her grip tightened on the door knob, ready to yank it open. She listened carefully, her gip slackening as she heard the receding footsteps. Slowly, gently, she eased open the door and stepped inside, far more careful than she had ever been in her life.

* * *

The old woman suddenly stopped and moved away, back to whatever task she had been doing. November released a breath of air that she not known she had been holding. She looked at the door, thoughts of escape coming back, and she stilled.

Her hands clutched her outer skirt, eyes growing wide at the sight of Red standing in the doorway. A shiver caught hold of her, raising the hair on the back of her neck. There was something menacing about the way Red stood in the doorway so quietly, both hands hidden underneath her cloak. She looked back in the direction of the old woman, and felt Red's eyes on her.

"Could you check the temperture, Gretel?"

Red moved across the floor towards November, neither boot creating a sound on the wooden floor. November tip-toed out of the way.

"I-I can't tell," November replied, looking at Red nervously.

Something fell onto the table.

"Have to do everything myself," the old woman muttered. "Must check to see if its okay now. Don't talk back to me!"

November winced, but moved back further still. The old woman came to the oven, obviously unaware of what was going on, until:

"Who are you?"

Red made no sound. As if by magic she produced her axe, clutched in her right hand, the left on still concealed.

Through a series of events that were unclear to November Red had become unarmed and the old woman was holding a large, slender knife in hers.

"Maybe you will check the oven?" She pointed the knife at Red's exposed throat.

November covered her mouth.

The old woman screamed, scrambling to get out of the fire. Red slammed the door, ignoring all cries for mercy and shrieks of pain. She shut it, locked it, chest heaving and face carefully concealed. She picked up her axe and November, though she would never mention it, saw the slender fingers that wrapped around the worn wood shake.

"We ahve the children," Red said as she passed November.

November nodded and followed. Outside everything was a dark blue. Dawn was fast approaching.

* * *

She walked around the first floor, taking in the fine rug and the small piece of tapestry above the fireplace. There were small wooden figures of cats lined up in the kitchen window. She debated with herself whether or not to go upstairs and see how Goldia was doing, but curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Up the neat little staircase she went, walking on tip-toe so as to not wake Goldia. She opened the door to the room which she thought that her companion was sleeping in and gasped. Goldia slept in the center of the room in a large bed with innocent face and golden hair fanned around it. Surrounding her, on the dirty wooden walls, hung like precious tapestries, were skulls. Varying sizes of bear skulls hung on the wall and the ceiling. In between the two windows hung three, one large, one medium, and one small. She tasted the bile in her throat and looked down. She choked in disgust. The light floor was splattered, unclean, and stained red.

Disregarding the fact that Goldia may wake up she ran down the stairs, tripping on the last steps. She could hear Goldia's hurried footsteps. Her head jerked back and stars exploded in her vision. She grabbed at the unnaturally strong hands and tried to disentangle the fingers.

"Why?" Goldia hissed. "Why did you have to come upstairs? I give you food, clean clothes, and a place to sleep. Is this how you repay me?"

She strained against the force, her neck aching. She looked out of the corner of her eye and noticed a misplaced fire poker. She stretched her fingers out, rolling it towards her. She gripped it in her hand and swung it behind her.

A loud yelp came from behind her and she fell forward. She looked back, shocked at the large bruise forming on Goldia's face and the blood flowing freely from her mouth. She scrambled to her feet and dashed to the door. She glanced back and saw the stunned expression receding from Goldia's eyes and yanked open the door, jumping back into the rain.

She ran off, soon noticing that the rain was considerably lighter and never more glad to see any form of light in her life.

* * *

"But she's innocent!" November cried out.

No one in the crowd heard her. November moved as if to push through the crowd, but found a strong hand holding her back. She twisted around and faced Perrault.

"We have to help her," she said.

Perrault shook his head. "There's nothing we can do, Your Highness."

November looked at him hopelessly, the tears gathering in her eyes. She looked once again at the platform, but could see nothing past the mob of people and the high flames. She covered her mouth and turned away from the sight.

"Perhaps it would be best if we left," Perrault suggested quietly.

November nodded in agreement, following Red who had already begun to walk away. November bowed her head, trying desperately to keep the torrid tears in check. They had found the children and brought them back. Wasn't that enough to save her? She released a shuddering breath.

They walked on, the awkward silence flitting uncertainly between them like a candle's flame wavering in the wind.

"Excuse me?"

November turned around and the others stopped. An old beggar woman clutching her cane smiled sadly at them.

"Poor child," she murmured, moving closer to November. "You've had no peace of mind for a long time." She took one of November's hands into her shaking ones and closed her eyes. "Keep on going. Do not seek out help for you will not find it -help will find you in a form that you least expect."

She opened her eyes and then beckoned November to move closer. November tilted her head, wondering what else this elderly old woman wanted to say. She glanced at Perrault and saw that he was straining to hear what extra bit of important information -it had to be important if she didn't wish for November's companions to overhear- and sighed.

"A warning for you and your female companion: Watch out for a beast with the sweetest voice and strangest form."

November pulled her head back, shocked. Her eyes darted towards Perrault, the smallest spark of fear striking her heart.

"Th-thank you for your help," November said, sweeping aside her panic.

The beggar woman smiled. "If it helps you find what you are looking for then I will be at ease."

November walked away, joining up again with her companions.

"Did she say anything important?" Perrault asked, knowing full well what most of the beggar woman had said.

"Nothing much to go on," November replied briskly, ignoring the strange look that Red was giving her.

* * *

Word count: gggg. The transitions are not smooth and Red is OOC -I apologise, I'll try better next time. It was probably also not very smart of me to finish this on an update day, but I am not going to change the story now. I have changed the story three times before I came back to type, and I am still not quite sure what I'm going to do. My planning and organising skills are poor, but I'm trying.

I'll most likely rewrite the first, third, and fourth section. I had to rush and am going to be going somewhere in about fifteen minutes.


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